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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473593">we’ll be a perfect family</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji'>Ford_Ye_Fiji</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>WandaVision (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Body Horror, Episode: s01e06 All-New Halloween Spooktacular!, F/M, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, I’m apparently obsessed with dead people who should be dead but aren’t, Psychological Horror, Vision gets an existential crisis as a treat, Vision is going Through It, i guess?, looking at u Sheridan, this is just sad, tommy and Billy are only there for two seconds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:49:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes open. </p><p>For a moment, he feels like they shouldn’t.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wanda Maximoff/Vision</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we’ll be a perfect family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>really feel like we could be playing up the psychological horror more</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes open.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment, he feels like they shouldn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wakes from dreams he doesn’t remember and he has memories of events that never happened. <strike>Did they?</strike> Sometimes, in those little moments between waking and sleeping, he doesn’t think he should be alive. Those thoughts always vanish before long, only a whisper of a memory in his mind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wanda always smiles, bright and warm, greeting the morning sun with him. He loves her so much. He holds her hand, soft skin beneath his own, ring shining merrily from her finger.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes are dark and sad when she thinks he isn’t looking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sometimes in the night she turns on her side and refuses to see him. Sometimes she flinches from his touch. Sometimes she laughs and looks at him with nothing behind her eyes. Sometimes he doesn’t know her at all. </span>
</p><p class="p2">Sometimes he doesn’t know himself.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Who is he?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When did they come here?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How? What? Who?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He kisses his boys when he leaves for work. They smile up at him, perfect and wonderful. Sometimes their eyes are blank and empty. Sometimes their eyes hold too much emotion, tumultuous and undefinable. Billy's hands linger longer than normal sometimes, his hugs are tighter, he is reluctant to let to go. Sometimes, in his arms, his son feels afraid.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strike> <span class="s2">Why?</span> </strike>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">Agnes and Herb always nod a courteous and friendly greeting to him, lips pulled up in a perfect porcelain smile, plastic and posed like dolls, always ready to help. He doesn’t want their help. He wants them to react. He says things, asks them questions hoping for answers. They always laugh instead, loud and happy. It doesn’t reach their eyes. </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Eyes are the windows to the soul, aren’t they?</em> </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he walks down the street for work, his skin crawls and he can feel them watching him, heads turning to follow long after he has left the street.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Norm is always there at his desk with a smile and laugh. Behind the glass screen of his eyes he screams and cries, begging and weeping for freedom. His cheeks are dark with tears. Vision asks him what’s wrong. Norm laughs uproariously at a joke that none of them told.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Vision doesn’t even know what he does at work.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he asks Norm, nothing he says makes sense.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Mr. Heart tells him but it only sends him in more circles. He works at a company where no one can remember what they do. He spends eight hours on the computer and he doesn’t remember a thing that he did. He stands to go home and nearly trips over his chair. Laughter ricochets off the walls </span> <span class="s4"> <em>but no one in the office is laughing.</em> </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sometimes, like now, his head hurts.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sometimes, late at night, he feels as if he isn’t whole. There’s a piece of him, somewhere, lost long ago. An important piece. Without it his head burns (</span> <span class="s4"> <em>broken open</em> </span> <span class="s1">), a mild migraine perhaps (</span> <span class="s4"> <em>torn flesh and vibranium</em> </span> <span class="s1">), Wanda always makes it feel better with a mere touch of her hand (</span> <span class="s4"> <em>darkness and pain as he is ripped apart</em> </span> <span class="s1">).</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He walks home from work.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The migraine builds.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He opens the door, smiling tightly at the boys, plastic porcelain like Agnes and Herb. Like Norm. </span> <strike> <span class="s3">Is he like them? Is he even real?</span> </strike> <span class="s1"> Wanda beams, red lips pulled into a warm smile, eyes dark, cheeks shiny from tear tracks. Billy and Tommy laugh and smile and pull them to dinner.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They eat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The migraine builds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boys go to bed. He kisses them both on the crown of their forehead. Wanda flinches as he does so. He takes her hand in his and turns out the light, gently wishing them a goodnight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They watch him go.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy wipes at his wet eyes and pulls his blanket up higher.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door closes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wanda's hand is cold in his (<em>or is it his hand that is cold? Is he the one leeching off of her vibrance?</em>). He steps out of the dark of the hallway and into the light. He doesn’t know how he got here. He can’t remember.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His head aches.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sit down on the couch, just as they have every night. She leans her head on his shoulder, her arm around her. </span>
</p><p class="p2">He turns to Wanda, presses a kiss to her brow. She looks up as he speaks to her, quiet, clear, and resigned, "Darling, I’m not supposed to be here am I?"</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives him a perfect porcelain smile, deceptively bright and stretched too tight, trembling with misery, her eyes overflowing with sorrow, "No, love. You’re not."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She presses a kiss to his mouth, lips painted red and slick with salt. His headache intensifies in a brilliant starburst of light. He remembers, Wanda's hands tight and reassuring around his, keeping his cold corpse warm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s4">Oh</span> <span class="s1">- </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">His eyes open.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment, he feels like they shouldn’t. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my tumblr is here: https://ford-ye-fiji.tumblr.com/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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